Moving On
by Kashimalin
Summary: When she died, none of the third-years knew what to do with themselves. They attended her funeral to give their good-byes... but what came after that? (Warning for: Character Death)


_A repost of a story from 2017, written by request._

* * *

On the day of the funeral, her casket wasn't open.

Her parents had made that decision themselves, thinking it best, considering the circumstances. To make it seem less empty and forbidding, the surface was entirely covered in rich floral arrangements, and at the center, a blown-up photo of her school ID, smile brilliant and glowing.

With no idea as to what would happen.

The details surrounding it were hazy. Rumors had spread before the actual story could, and it was any number of tales – from a car crash, to deathly allergies, to cancer. But, by the end of the week, the story had become consistent – hospitalization, followed by her end.

Practically everyone from the third-year class showed up alongside family and friends. The staff had been informed of the potential influx of people, but still found themselves struggling to supply tissues and keep the crowd flowing into the room. They could only watch as everyone did their best to console each other, trying to be quiet in the room that seemed to emphasize the still silence.

Everyone knew who was sitting in that coffin. Despite the fact it was closed, it was clear what each person was picturing as they went up to the casket, kneeling before it and whispering their condolences and musings. After a spell, they would stand, stretching their knees and walking to her parents and grandmother, only to find themselves crying further. It almost seemed like the parents were consoling the boys, each listening to their apologies and regrets. The flow of tears never stopped as they listened to everyone's high praise of her, at her kind heart, hardworking spirit, loyalty and intelligence.

As the crowd flow dwindled and everyone had finally arrived, some settled into their groups and seats, while others moved up a second time to the casket.

Having been the first from Ikemen to arrive, and therefore not wanting to take as much time before her casket, Takeru went up again to continue his previous conversation. He kneeled before the casket, quietly lacing his fingers together and closing his eyes. Sucking in a shaky breath, he spoke, voice hoarse and quiet.

"You were so much more to me, you know." He felt the tears rolling out, thick and hot against his cheeks. "I never did get to say that, did I? You really are so much to me, and I don't know what I'll do without you now. We always said how we would grow up together, that when we were old and gray, we would still be friends…" With a sad laugh, he bent his head down, glancing up again moments later. "You would shove broccoli onto my plate, and I would defend you when they accused you of moving it… we shared the teddy bear together before I left it behind with you… and right when we've finally met again…"

He trailed off, waiting for something, but nobody answered his silence – no hands came to brush away his tears. He felt himself breaking down before the casket, fingers dipping into his jacket for tissues, but he had emptied his pockets of used ones before going up. With a resigned sigh, he began to stand.

"I never got to tell you how much I loved you, as more than just a brother figure. So let me say it now. I love you, so much." With that, he turned around, and almost bumped into Ryuu and Kurou, who had been waiting behind him for their turn.

"Sorry!" Kurou said, his usually chipper voice wavering. "I was just here with Ryuu, we didn't mean to—"

Takeru shook his head, cutting the boy off and brushing aside them as he went towards the nearest table. Kurou glanced back at him, face losing its mock smile. As he did so, Ryuu pulled out of the arm that had been cast about his waist, settling before the casket. Kurou tentatively stepped forward, but Ryuu shot a glare his way, causing his friend to fall back a couple paces to leave him be. When he decided that Kurou was a good distance away, he shifted quietly, reaching out to lay a hand on the casket. Something in the back of his mind told him this wasn't good manners, but he didn't care – he wanted to just believe he was touching her one last time.

"You… you just had to go and leave us all behind, huh?" Ryuu's face cracked into a bitter smile, fingertips turning white as he pressed against the smooth wooden surface. "You cared so much about everyone… I wonder if you notice now how much we care about you." He tried to imagine he was holding tight to her hand, only wishing that it was her warm grasp. "Dammit, why did you have to go and die? What did you have to leave us all behind _for_? I'll never know how you felt… after such a bad first impression." He choked up, pounding his fist onto the kneeler. "Why… just why?" Bending his head down, he rested it against the casket, and Kurou approached then, placing a hand on either side of his shoulders.

"Come on, Ryuu… Ryuu…" He repeated his friend's name over and over, moving to pull his hand away from the casket and lift him into a standing position, walking him back to a seat. "Stay right here, I'll be back with tissues, promise." With that reassurance, Kurou dashed off, almost hitting someone in his haste.

Not that he would have seen that person, anyway. He often went unnoticed, and today was one of those days – despite the black suit he had donned, people still somehow missed his presence. Cynically wondering if that was because he blended in by looking just like everyone else in the room, he turned his eyes towards her. A rare moment where the kneeler was empty, with nobody crowding around it. He seized the chance and stepped over in two paces, hitting his knees to the ground and clasping his hands together.

 _Oh my,_ he thought silently, not wanting to dare speak aloud. _They found my ID in your possessions, you know. I had lost it that day in the café and I was wondering where it had gone… did you really see me, then, The day of the thunderstorm? I was so scared, for once, that someone had seen me without Viktor-sensei's help, so I ran out into the rain. I didn't even notice I had left it behind._ Itsuki gave a sad sigh, tightening the grip on his own hands, grounding himself. _You wanted to return it to me, didn't you? I must have seemed so strange… what did you think of me? I admired you from afar for so long, and I had no idea you knew I existed. Why was I so scared of you seeing me? Why didn't I want to admit that possibility, and that you had my card? I thought I had left it elsewhere. What could we have been, had I not been afraid?_ He looked absently to the casket, eyes vacant and unwavering. He hoped some sort of answer would come to him – descend from above like the gracious voice he so often heard in the café, speaking to customers that were never him.

 _What do you think—_ "Ah!"

Suddenly, Itsuki felt someone bump into him from behind, their knees awkwardly jumbling against his back. He spun around, looking up at the boy behind him, who blinked twice through tears. Taking a shaky breath, he muttered an apology. Itsuki only gave a nod in response, quickly escaping the situation before it grew worse with the school delinquent.

However, Wakatoshi didn't even think twice about him, instead collapsing into a heap – as if he lost the will to stand, choosing instead to remain on the ground forever. He crossed his arms over the top of the kneeler, just staring in silence as his nose practically touched the varnished wood. His cheeks were streaked and shiny, face red from crying. He blinked wearily through puffy eyes, lost in a sea of his own thoughts as he figured out what to say.

He had no idea. There was so _much_ he wanted to say, and he didn't know where to start. No deep breaths could steady his thoughts; no pauses could settle his stomach and words. So he chose to vent.

"Did you ever know why I cut my hair? You know, for you? I felt bad, because I thought you didn't want to be associated with a delinquent like me. Wearing ridiculous clothes, with garish hairstyles. But there was that small, _small_ chance I thought you would like me more if I changed for you. Did you? I don't even know if you could have ever learned to love someone of my background." His voice became bitter, raw and unhinged. "I sure as hell couldn't. But then I believed, somewhere, that _you_ could love anybody. And that was foolish of me… wasn't it?"

His sobs turned to hiccups, and he bent his head down, shoulders convulsing as he wept, feeling everything spill out at once. All his words and feelings dropped away with each drop, and there was nothing he did to stop them – just watching as they struck the padded cushion beneath his knees.

"Just had to go and screw it up for me, huh? And the rest of us. Dammit, dammit… all of it to hell. This isn't fair, not to _you_ , why did it have to be you…?"

As he sobbed before the casket, someone pushed off their spot against the wall and began to step towards Wakatoshi, watching him with somber eyes. As he approached, Wakatoshi barely heard his footsteps on the soft carpet, only seeing his shoes come into his field of vision. Lifting his head, he looked up at his teacher, wondering how much of a mess he was. Kyouya merely dug around in his pocket for a packet of tissues, ripping it open as Wakatoshi stood to accept it. The silence that followed while Kyouya guided him away from the casket and Wakatoshi rubbed his face with the tissues felt eternal, with so much to say, but no words to use.

Finally, as he used up his last tissue and shoved it into a pocket, Wakatoshi looked to Kyouya, and gave him a gaze that moved his teacher to slight tears. All he felt he could do was place a hand on his student's shoulder, intending to console him. But before he could say a word, Kyouya was pulled into a hug, Wakatoshi holding him in a tight embrace. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around in return, staying for several seconds until the time came to let go.

"I can't, Kyouya-sensei… I can't…"

"Don't worry. I don't plan on marking absences this week, or even assigning homework. Take all the time you need, all right?"

Wakatoshi gave a wet sniffle as he nodded, moving away to find more tissues. As Kyouya watched him go, he saw someone approaching out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to greet them, giving a sad smile.

"Once again, I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs.—"

"There's no need," her mother said, raising a hand to stop him. Instead, she came and stood next to Kyouya, casting her eyes out over the boys. Some were standing and talking in hushed tones, others were sobbing in groups, and then the few who cried alone, with only a growing pile of tissues for company. "I had no idea they were so attached to her."

"What do you mean?" Kyouya glanced to her, but she did not return the gesture, instead focused on watching the scene of the room before her.

"I mean that they all clearly love her. My husband and I were discussing it – that they all obviously have feelings for her, and that this is almost too much for them to bear. This loss that they feel… it's almost as intense as our own."

"I think that when one visits a café as often as they have, you tend to get attached to the staff."

"That's true," she replied, giving a smile. "Perhaps too attached. I overheard some of them when they sat at the casket… giving confessions and apologies. Many things have been left unsaid."

Kyouya tensed at the idea that multiple boys were confessing to her, and that they all had the liberty to do so. What they had was not shameful in any sense of the word, and Kyouya could only think of how he had bottled up his own feelings before accidentally saying something – what had been left unsaid by the rest of them?

"You will help them, won't you?" The sound of her mother's voice brought him out of his thoughts, drawing him into the conversation once more.

"O-Of course. I plan to."

"They'll need to move on from their feelings," she continued. "She spoke highly of how kind you were and the intense dedication and commitment you have for your students."

"She… She didn't know me very well."

"On the contrary, she was happy to be working with you. It boosted her grades, and we are… proud. So we have faith that you and the other teachers can help the boys. If there's anything you can do…"  
Kyouya gave a nod, and he felt himself beginning to choke up. He couldn't say another word – afraid to speak in case something came out by accident – so he resolved himself to a simple reply.

"I'll do what I can."

She took up his hand and gave it a pat; a silent thanks before moving back to her husband, who was still standing by the casket. Kyouya could only watch them wordlessly, not daring to go up to the casket himself – he hadn't been that close with her. That was a right every other boy in this room had… but not him.

Haruka approached him next, moving to say something, but then the grandmother stood from her chair, and everyone moved to sit instead, knowing it was time to listen. The choked sobs and coughs faded into silence, and the grandmother simply stood, watching and waiting.

"Which of you three wanted to speak first?" She looked at the front row, where Takahiro, Suzuki, and Makoto began to fidget in their seats. None of them wanted the false honor of going first – it meant that they would be the one to admit she was really and truly gone. Suzuki glanced at both boys and Makoto only sank in his seat further. Takahiro watched both of them, before giving a slight cough, standing as her grandmother sat back down.

"I will." He went up, briefly stopping to give another set of consolations to her parents before moving to the front of the room. He paused, just a moment, composing himself as best he could.

 _Shoulders back. Single, deep breath from the core. Eye contact with the back of the room, your chin up slightly. Run through the first lines of the speech before you even say a word._ His father's voice echoed in his ears, the instructions a constant in his mind.

"We lost someone dear to all of us. And it is a tragedy. None of us ever expected this would happen – we were all thinking about how we would graduate before her… how we would have to say our good-byes as we were packing for university. But instead, we gathered here to say good-bye to her." Takahiro put a hand to his mouth, briefly, holding back tears as he cleared his throat. "She had an impact on all of us, from the moment we entered the café, whether we wanted that to happen or not. Her bright smile, happy demeanor, delicious food…" He paused, letting the hesitant laughter bubble up. "We are saying good-bye to her presence with us, but it shouldn't be a complete farewell. She should still live on in our memories, and we should carry her with us. I believe that she has done something to each of us, as individuals. For her, I believe that we all strove to be better. For her, we changed, and we grew, and we are more. There is a piece of her in all of us, from 3-C to 3-A, to even the staff… She is there. And we shouldn't dishonor those bits that she is leaving behind. We must be the people she believed that we could be – so please, do it for her. …Thank you." With a small bow, Takahiro went back to his seat, hearing the muffled agreements of attendees.

Suzuki's face went pale, and he once again looked to Makoto – but he seemed in a daze, body language clearly displaying that he did not want to be next to speak. So with weak knees, Suzuki eased himself out of his chair, moving to the front of the room. The spark was gone from his eyes, but that didn't stop him from giving the showmanship smile, calming both himself and the audience as he threw himself into the improvised speech.

"She was fantastic, wasn't she?" Suzuki cast a glance about the room, and people nodded their heads in agreement. "Absolutely fantastic! You know, there was a time… it was when you were all planning for my birthday. I remember hearing the whispers about the café, and the smile on Yamato's face after she pulled you aside to talk. And Souh, you too… when that all happened. She did all she could for us, and I hope that nobody else ever took it for granted… because there were times I did. I always thought, 'There will be more birthdays, and occasions for us to get together'… but now that's… I'm sorry." Suzuki dug a tissue out of his pocket, wiping his cheeks before continuing. "That's something we'll have to do ourselves. She really brought us together and I think we should keep this bond between us all alive. Like Takahiro said, these pieces aren't just in us, but they're linked to each other. So let's do it for her, okay!" His grin was forced, ruined by his tears. "Let's do it for her." With that, he quickly padded back to his seat, giving Makoto a slight elbow to the side. The boy jumped, shooting a glare, before realizing that it was his turn. He rose to his feet and stepped before everyone. He was up there before he knew it, blinking twice before turning to face the audience, fumbling for a card in his suit jacket pocket. He cleared his throat once – twice, three times – before finally being able to speak.

"S-She was inspiring, like Suzuki said. I-In fact, he sorta took my speech from me…" Laughter quietly bubbled up throughout the room, giving Makoto a chance to collect himself again. "Either way. I think she brought us all together in a way that none of us thought possible. I know that in our first and second years, there was no way you could have gathered us together for any occasion, and especially not our birthdays. We weren't anything close, and classes rarely spoke outside of our divisions. But this year, I've had so much fun getting to know the kids outside of 3-A, and those within my classroom, even better. And we have… h-have her to thank for it. I am glad I met her and that we all bonded, because I can't imagine what my life would be like now without people like you. I hope that we aren't divided by her death, and our memories of her, but that instead, we remain close, like how she would have wanted us to be. We shouldn't fight over what could have been, what she may have believed, or what she thought. Instead, we need to keep her dream and her actions alive. Please, join me in a moment of rest, as we remind ourselves of who she was, and of what we need to do." With that, everyone in the room solemnly bowed their heads, a couple shuddering breaths breaking the still silence.

"…Thank you." Makoto kept his head down, trudging back to his seat. People turned to their friends, glancing and making quiet vows to each other that they wouldn't give up on their friendship. The volume in the room grew slightly, nobody sure if someone was speaking next, until a person at the front of the room stood and ambled up. Everyone fell deathly silent as her grandmother stepped before the casket, resting a single hand next to the photo frame. The room collectively held their breath, waiting for her to speak.

"…I never thought I would outlive her. And I do wish I hadn't." Her voice was weak, struggling to even form words. "And after hearing all of you today, I wish even more that she was still with us." Sliding her hand from the casket, she faced the room, not even bothering to lift her shoulders.

"She would want you all to be happy. Mourn for now, for who she was… but then move on. Take all the time you need to do so, but do not stay stagnant because of this – she would want you to be you. Live your life. And go forth. If anybody else would like to speak… I invite you to come forward now."

With that, she straightened slightly, nodding once to the crowd, before stepping down to the sound of no applause – but those of sobs, coughs, and bitter acceptance.

* * *

Soujiro, Hinata, and Sousuke stayed home on Monday, like much of the third-year class. Just a few people went to school, and teachers did not dare complain – just working with who they had.

To distract themselves, each sibling went to their own craft. Soujiro retreated to his workspace, unfurling a blank scroll and getting his inks and brushes ready. Hinata got his tea things out, settling outside on the garden walkway, cushion and table set. And Sousuke went out to the range, having had minimal sleep the previous night. He breathed the warm air, letting it fill him as he walked back from assembling the target. In just a few moments, he had readied himself and lifted the bow and arrow. Aiming carefully, he set his eyes dead center, then let the arrow fly.

 _Thwack!_

 _Yes!_ With triumph, he aimed another and another in succession, both hitting within the center circle. An involuntary grin stretched across his face as he went to pull them out of the target, clearing the board for a new set. He settled into position again, glancing at the goal with three new holes in it.

 _"I'm so proud of you! You're really good at this, aren't you?"_

He heard her voice in his ears as he pulled back the arrow, but the sweet sound was short-lived. Suddenly, before his eyes, all he could see was her coffin, and the weight of his brother's grip clung to his arm, tugging it down.

The arrow fired. Sousuke could only watch it fly, striking the top of the target. Nowhere near his usual shots. Instantly, he moved to fire a second one, but in his haste, that one also hit off-center. He paused his fury as he reached for yet another, attempting to relax.

The tears came before he felt them, rolling down his cheeks. He couldn't get the image of the closed casket out of his head, how he couldn't see her one last time before they buried her, six feet underground as the crowd all bore witness to her final moments above the earth. Throwing down his bow, he took off to find Hinata. His feet moved on their own, taking him to his destination without an ounce of thought behind them. As he stormed up the stairs and through the house, the tears began to subside, in favor of heavy breathing and sheer exhaustion. He stumbled into the center garden walkway, clutching at the railing and hunching over to catch his breath.

"H-H-Hina…" Sousuke began to say his name, but he lifted his head up to see his brother on the ground, curled up beside his tea table. He was clutching his wrist, the hand attached red with burn marks and muddled with tea drops. Sousuke crossed to his brother and fell at his side, taking up his hand and prying a cloth from where it rested among the set.

"Nii-chan…" He slowly wrapped it around his brother's fingers, but the job was difficult, as his own were shaking and unable to properly tighten the knots. With an unsatisfactory job, he left it alone, instead choosing to move his brother up and cradle him in a hug.

"S-She's mad, Nii-chan… she never could love me… I didn't get a c-chance to show her…"

"She could, she does love you—"

"N-No! All she saw was how I would watch her from across the café, a-and I ruined our tea date, but I never got to show her how I changed…"

As Hinata sobbed, Sousuke looked at the table, trying to infer what had happened. The answer came quickly – spilled tea, a broken cup, a chipped pot.

"She wouldn't be mad at you for screwing up, Hinata, she made mistakes herself… remember when she got our drink orders mixed up at the café that one time, because she confused us? How long did it take her to learn the difference?"

Hinata gave a laugh, sniffling. "It took Soujiro pointing out our hairstyles for her to finally realize."

"Then how we switched it up one day and she had trouble _again?_ She laughed so hard and to hear it again…"

He trailed off, the moment suddenly ruined as they knew that neither of them would hear her again. They would never her laugh, nor her voice, only when it echoed in their ears and thoughts. Sousuke hugged his brother tighter, and Hinata responded, burying his face into his shoulder. They had each other, and Soujiro, who Sousuke saw had just opened the door at the other end of the hall, stretching his arms out and up into the air, clearly having just stopped his calligraphy work. He saw his cousins in a tight embrace, briefly confused. But instead of turning back, he came over to them quietly, kneeling to hug Hinata from behind as well. As his arms wrapped around him, Sousuke saw splotches of ink on his wrists and hands – the sign of a sloppy job at his craft this morning. _How distracted had he been?_

"I'm sorry I failed to be there properly for you both," Soujiro murmured, clutching them closer, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

* * *

Yuu found Akira after the basketball game. The gym was totally empty, his footsteps echoing as he walked over to the bleacher stairs. Bowing his head towards his friend, Yuu sat down next to him, giving a sigh.

"I sure hope that mask isn't too hot," he commented, voice a little strained from cheering.

"Proper ventilation," Akira muttered in response, the words barely audible through the mascot head. "Don't worry."

"If you say so…" Yuu shifted nervously in his seat, not sure what to say next. Through the walls, they could hear the home team slamming lockers shut, the metallic tones harsh. A couple yells filtered through, but ceased almost instantly at the sound of a more powerful, exposed command.

"They haven't lost in such a long time," Akira said somberly. "Makoto wasn't giving it his all today. He was weak in the offense and didn't take any chances."

"But, doesn't that make sense?" Yuu worked to keep the hostility out of his statement. "He was impacted by it just as strongly as we were."

"But he has way more going for him. Him and his fancy scholarships… grades and sports…" Akira shook his head, feeling the mask swivel as he did so. His nails dug into the skin of his palms. "I don't get noticed."

"But, Baa-kun… I do! I thought you had a cute routine today, and you were clearly giving it your all to motivate the crowd!"

"You're special, Yuu. You weren't afraid to get close to me. Others think I'm too weird… and…" Through the mask, Yuu thought he heard a choked sound, but had no visual cues – only the mask, which remained in the same, emotionless state.

"She didn't though, did she?" Yuu pulled his legs up to his chest, hugging them close.

Akira didn't respond right away – the only indication he was even conscious being that his shoulder trembled once and a while, accompanied by a shaky exhale. By the time he had composed himself enough to respond, Yuu had begun to tear up.

"She sat right there." He weakly pointed to Yuu, his fingers unable to keep steady. "I always came back to sit next to her. She took time out of her already busy schedule to come. And I thought it was all for Makoto, at first… but then she would talk to me, she would cheer alongside me… dammit Yuu, I don't understand… she's gone… How can you keep smiling?" His final statement rose to an angry and dangerous pitch, and Yuu recoiled, his reply meek.

"Because I am being strong for her. Strong men… don't cry." He bit his lip, struggling to keep the tears in his own eyes from slipping out. "She wouldn't want me to."

"But _how_ , Yuu? How can you… keep going…"

"Baa-kun…" He reached out a hand, placing it awkwardly about the other boy's torso. "…Is there a reason why you've been keeping your mask on a lot more lately?"

"I've always worn it this much."

"You didn't when she was around."

Akira felt the words pound into his gut with all the force of a wrecking ball, hitting home. With a snarl, he tore the mask off his head, holding it to his chest as he began to visibly break down. Yuu hadn't known what to expect when the mask came off – he just knew the face he was used to seeing. That boy who had a shy smile, blushed when addressed with a sidelong glance, and was soft-spoken and peaceful.

That was not how he looked now. His eyes were red; raw from crying. His sniffs, once muffled under the mask, were now incredibly apparent. Tear streaks ran down both cheeks, glistening.

"Baa…" Yuu gave him an understanding look, intertwined with pity as he moved to embrace his friend. Akira instantly hugged him back, ditching the mask and crying into his shoulder with shaking sobs. Yuu only held him tight, rocking back and forth in a quiet rhythm.

Suddenly, the room went dark, the motion sensor lights across the gym turning off. Save for a couple solitary lights over the bleachers where they sat, the gym suddenly felt very cold. Yuu gave a shiver as Akira's sobs began to subside.

"C'mon, we can't stay in here all night." Yuu began to pull away, but Akira grabbed at him, holding on as if he was a lifeline. "We can't…"

"Please…" Akira protested, but only briefly as Yuu moved his hands back, tugging Akira's arms off. They gave little resistance, and Yuu stood up, walking directly off the bleachers. As he strode to the exit of the gymnasium, lights came on – just a few – illuminating his path in the darkness. Turning, he looked to Akira, who was still sitting on the bleachers, frozen in place.

"Come on." Yuu held out his hand. "We'll go home together, okay?"

Akira stared, and for a moment, Yuu thought he would not follow. But then, he tucked the goat head under his arm and stood, knees shaking as he walked the path Yuu had created. The lights cast strange shadows about his depressed features, but when he met with his friend, he took the offered hand, fingers holding tight. They stood a moment, watching each other without a single word. They went out together, letting the door swing shut behind them.

* * *

 _The infirmary was never this busy before,_ Haruka thought to himself, leaning back on the couch for a few minutes of peace and quiet. _I had expected this, but… didn't really believe it._

As the weeks after the funeral trudged on, Haruka found more and more boys coming in with reports of fatigue and general weariness, which he was citing as a state of shock from the unexpected incident. There was barely anything he could do about it – just recommending rest in the infirmary, coping mechanisms, and pick-me-ups for the coming weeks. The speech always felt the same, just the person before him changing with every passing hour.

And judging by the state of his character, he was feeling the same as well. However, he put on the doctor's smile for every patient, trying to give the boys a sense of hope and be an anchor for them in this darker time. All the while, he bit back his own feelings, having to forget that he loved her too – perhaps not as strongly, but the affection was still there, looming ever presently in the back of his mind.

The door cracked open, and Haruka gave a heavy mental groan, facing the doorway with the best smile he could muster –

And saw Kyouya standing there, looking as if he had gotten no sleep the previous night. His hand was against his temple, nursing a headache that had started in the morning and not gone away since.

"Anyone in right now?" he asked quietly, out of fear that someone was sleeping in the infirmary. Haruka shook his head in response, beckoning his friend over to the sofa and moving so he could sit beside him. With a sigh, Kyouya collapsed onto the sofa, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

"I'll just get the usual medicine," Haruka said with a sad smile, standing and going to the cabinet to find a measuring cup and bottle. He brought it back to the other teacher, carefully measuring it out and holding it towards him. Returning the smile and draining the medicine in two gulps, he went back to his original position, turning the plastic over idly in his hands.

"How many?"

"Six this morning, and I've got a personal bet that I'll cross eight before the day is out."

"Are you counting me?"

"You're not a student." Haruka placed the bottle on the table next to him and leaned back next to Kyouya, staring at the ceiling. "Unless I need to give you the same speech I've given all day."

"You might," Kyouya replied, his mouth suddenly feeling a little dry. "I was relieved when her parents did not look at me with a poisonous fury or judgement. It means that she didn't say a word."

Haruka gave a heavy sigh. "So you did tell her."

"I hadn't wanted to. But I had to stop her, and the moment just—" He caught himself before he went too far, not wanting to think about how she had only taken his hands and spun back to face him, whispering that she couldn't give any sort of reply now, but was relieved that he would wait for her if it came to that. He couldn't cry – not anymore, it seemed so pointless and wasteful – but he couldn't stop himself from going silent, wondering if he had missed a detail when in tutoring sessions with her, or at the café when he had quiet early mornings with her before class, anything that would have hinted at her untimely end.

Haruka laced his fingers together over his stomach, wondering how to respond. This was more personal than the rest of the students – this was his friend, someone who trusted him and he trusted in return. And here he was, openly admitting that he had confessed to her before her death, that he had fallen for her just like everyone else.

"It's understandable," Haruka said slowly. "It was natural with all the time you were spending with her. And you aren't alone."

The doctor sounded like he had finished his sentence, but in reality, he had only paused in his thought process. The realization had hit him that _he never genuinely confessed to her._

 _What have I been thinking this whole time, trying to bottle up my emotions out of fear that someone knows? I said it when she was asleep… and nobody heard a word._ Haruka felt his throat stick, the thought process coming to the obvious conclusion. _Nobody knows but me. Nobody has to know but me._

Speaking aloud again, he continued, "The third year boys have all come in with the same story of love and losing her, so it's a tale I've heard all day."

Kyouya gave a hollow laugh. "And I'm expected to soldier on through it, helping them along the way."

"That is what we are expected to do. And it's going to hurt some days, Kyouya."

"You'll listen if it gets tough, right?"

"Of course I will. Anything you need, Kyouya."

 _If only you could help me, too._

* * *

After much discussion, they hired a new person for the café when winter break ended. They had a good smile, were determined to work hard, and went so far as to rename the café – but everyone still called it by the old name in their minds.

For the first few days, nobody came. The new barista had been informed of the basics of what happened to the previous owner – but did not think it would be this bad. Having gone through the beans and food left behind, they spent the first couple of days simply cleaning. The fridge was scrubbed out. The tables were wiped down. The storeroom then had to be emptied – and all that was left were some stores of basic beans. With a sad sigh, they settled into the café for another empty day.

But this was not destined to be like the rest. The bell over the door chimed, and the barista glanced up to see a boy in the doorway, half-inside as owlish green eyes blinked behind thick frames. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to turn and leave again. However, he moved inside, hesitantly closing the door behind him. With a shaky smile, he went to sit at the closest table, politely asking for a specific dotted tea set when they served him coffee.

He was the first. After that, boys began to steadily show up, and as the new barista adjusted to their role and make changes or add new choices to the menu, others came more frequently. For a time, it seemed like things might be steadily returning to normal.

Until the barista caught one boy alone. It was late in the evening, after sports practices had ended. They were going to close up when he came, tapping on the door.

"Hello!" They moved out from behind the counter, recognizing who it was. "How are you feeling, Touru-kaichou?"

"Weary," he said, heaving a sigh.

"You just want to sit down, then?" As they asked, he was already moving to sit, collapsing at a table nearest to the counter.

"Do you have any coffee left?"

They nodded, moving behind the counter to pour out the last dregs of the day's supply. Bringing it to the President, they ended up sitting down across from him, grateful for the evening company. With a silent stare, he watched the barista in silence over his mug. He just wasn't used to them yet; which was why he had taken to letting Seiichi go in and order deliveries for them. He couldn't face them properly – even as he braved seeing them for the taste of coffee tonight. The drink tasted different, not made with the same heart and tender touch.

"Why are you around so late?" they piped up, eyes curious. Touru nearly choked on his coffee at the sound of their voice. He had expected to hear _hers_ instead.

"Fencing," he muttered into his mug, not moving to make eye contact. "I stayed late to practice."

"I admire your work ethic!"

"Mm." Touru placed his cup down, a nervous smile dancing around his lips, his hands beginning to shake.

"You are top of your class _and_ do a sport! The third years must be so proud of you. I don't think I could be that good, not with where I came from—"

"P-please." Touru interjected, feeling his voice crack. "I understand you are trying to…" He trailed off, and he brought a hand to his mouth, feeling tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

"Kaichou?" The barista stood, moving to reach out, but Touru backed away. With a hiccup, he began to cry, and resisted the urge to fully break down before the other person.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-yes…"

"Touru-kaichou, please don't lie…"

"What do… W-what do you expect me to say? You aren't her. You cannot…" He gave another hiccup, the tears freely flowing. As he stood, Touru pushed the mug away, causing it to spill. Before the barista could stop him, Touru was out the exit. They dashed to follow, but saw him already running away towards the dorms. With a groan, the barista almost moved to slam the door shut, until they glanced aside and saw another familiar face – the third year TA, Hideki, standing and staring at the scene before his eyes.

"What was _that_ about?"

"He… I… I dunno, he just started getting emotional…"

Hideki blew a sigh, adjusting his glasses as he glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky. "Say why?"

"…I think it was about the old barista. The girl who was here before." They cast their eyes down to the pavement. "I'm not actually doing anyone a favor by being here, am I?"

"Don't let it get to you." Hideki walked over to them and began to guide them back inside, out of the cold. "You know it's not your fault."

"You sure? I didn't have to take this afterschool job, you know…"

"Well, it's not like you were told about her before getting hired, right?"

"Would've been nice…" They let their shoulders drop in frustration before seeing the spilled coffee, choosing to go behind the counter and get a wet rag.

"You really shouldn't beat yourself up." Hideki began to absently push in chairs, in a mockery of an attempt to seem helpful.

"They're gonna hate me anyways, so what's the point?" The barista violently scrubbed into the table, causing it to rock back and forth.

"Just know it's not fair, and what's happened has happened? If you ask me, you are doing a good job."

They gave a hollow laugh. "Yeah, right."

"Your overall success shouldn't be gauged by the happiness of one kid. If you let him get to you, your overall morale will decrease and depress everyone else. Keep doing what you have been doing – working these long hours, buying new things, and planning café events – it will do them all some good."

By now, the barista had stopped their work, and was watching Hideki with wide eyes. He noticed their gaze and gave a questioning look. "What?"

"You're gonna be a teacher, right?"

"I am."

"…Your students are gonna love you."

Hideki turned a little red at that, looking away. "W-well, I don't know about _that_ …"

"No, they will. I'm sure of it."

"Hm. I'm not convinced, but here's hoping." Hideki began to move back to the door, pausing as he reached for the handle. "You know?"

"Know what?"

"I think she would have really liked you, and is proud of you for filling her shoes."

With that, he said his goodbyes and walked out into the night, letting the door swing shut behind him. For a moment, all was silent.

Until the new barista felt themselves crying, too.


End file.
